


Endearment

by flute25



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Borderline crack, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Humor, Melancholy, Tumblr Prompt, i don't write romance you guys so this will be subtle, minor alcohol abuse, you can read into these as far as you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-03-17 02:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flute25/pseuds/flute25
Summary: Five times Obi-wan was kissed on the forehead and one time he returned the favor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first 5+1. I'm so proud. 
> 
> Based on a tumblr prompt.
> 
> This will vacillate between angst and fun. This will also not be very edited. 
> 
> Read into the relationships what you want. :)

“Well, mine was the more daring of the two rescues.”

Satine glanced back at Obi-wan, swallowing the retort that was dancing on the tip of her tongue. A roll of her eyes and the sharp cock of an eyebrow followed. Perhaps it was not the most _royal_ response, but the man certainly deserved it.

At least Obi-wan - _Master Kenobi_ , she corrected herself - had the courtesy to look chastened, his cheeks flushing slightly, his gaze cast towards the hangar floor. 

Satine sighed, brushing a lock of blonde hair from her forehead. They had escaped Death Watch, had exposed the traitor Pre Viszla, and now…

This was always where they ended up, wasn’t it? The grand, romantic adventure, danger and glamour flowing around them like a cloak in the wind. 

But every adventure had a day after.

The bickering, the denials, the inability to express her - 

Her what? Her feelings? 

Yes, she was attracted to the man - even with the beard. And yet…

And yet, ever since Obi-wan had returned to Mandalore, re-opening that Pantoran box of memories from so long ago -

She did not know where nostalgia ended and reality began. Perhaps she hadn’t even known then.

“Obi-wan,” Satine breathed.

Green-grey eyes met hers - intense, questioning.

_Wanting._

As many words as stars hung between them. Regret, revelation, even repression pulsed, bright and magnetic. Satine could practically feel herself being pulled to the auburn-haired man, just as she had so long ago.

“Satine, I - “

Obi-wan faltered, reaching out an arm to - to do what? He didn't even seem to know. He made a few awkward movements before settling on leaning nonchalantly on the steering mechanism of a speeder.

“I - “ he began again, his voice trembling.

Satine squeezed her eyes closed, holding up a hand.

Silence. 

She released a silent breath, and with it - she hoped - any expectations, any dreams of a future that couldn’t, should never be.

To speak it aloud would damn them both.

“I think, my dear,” she responded with forced levity, “you are more injured than you let on.” Satine weaved through the parked speeders to stand at the Jedi’s side.

Obi-wan’s features screwed up in annoyance. 

“I am fine, Satine. Just fatigued.”

She snorted, this time controlling the impulse to roll her eyes. How typical of him. 

“Yes, just as you were on Draboon,” Satine retorted, wrapping an arm around his waist in what was a mirror image of that exact event. 

He froze for a moment - so tense that she thought he might run off. And then he fell into her touch - from injury or want, she did not know, nor did she have the courage to ask.

_This_ , she thought. His pulse, so close she could hear it, his breaths warm on her neck. This comfort, familiar in a way she hadn’t had the opportunity, hadn’t allowed herself to feel in - in how many years? 

There had always been so much to do, so much to rebuild. And she loved her work, her people, and yes, even her position. If allowed to travel back in time, to face the same decisions, to re-open all the little tears in her heart - 

She would do it all over again.

But to stay here, to wallow in mirages of the past - it was dangerous. They were still in enemy territory, and if news of her sudden disappearance had made it back to Sundari…

She stiffened, withdrawing her hand as if Obi-wan were the ice-hell itself. Hurt flashed across the Jedi’s face for an instant, before he composed himself into his usual stoic demeanor.

Satine couldn’t meet Obi-wan’s eyes. “We ought to be getting back to Sundari," she seemed to speak at the speeder. “There is much work to be done.”

A slight nod of the head. “Of course, Duchess.” Absolute politeness, nothing more. Obi-wan Kenobi, the perfect Jedi.

That mask he wore too easily. 

The mask she donned with frightening similarity. 

A nervous laugh escaped Satine. She cursed herself even as she began to play with the fine fabric of her pants.

“Are you - are you quite alright, Master Kenobi?”

He smiled, but Satine could see it was forced, the creases around his face tightening just a bit too much. 

Her stomach clenched, not only for the hurt she caused, but the evidence of the passage of time. When had they aged so, their paths diverting?

“As I said before, I’ll be fine.”

Distant. Emotionless.

She could not let it stand.

Before she knew what she was doing, Satine took his face in her hands. Obi-wan’s eyes widened a fraction, his breaths shortening. 

The Duchess brought Obi-wan's head toward hers, placing a simple kiss on his forehead. 

Heat rose in her own cheeks. 

She held his gaze for a moment - an eternity - before turning away, suddenly finding great interest in preparing the speeder-bike for departure. 

Obi-wan said nothing, but she felt the bike dip ever so slightly with his added weight, enjoying the necessity of his touch on her waist as they drove off into the dusty Concordian night. 

Another time, she told herself. Another time. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Hondo. He is such a force of chaotic nature.
> 
> From the end scene of the Younglings arc. A minor rewriting.

The younglings were safe. That was all that mattered. 

Obi-wan bit his lip, hoping to silence the barrage of recriminations already readying themselves in his mind. 

_You weren’t fast enough, Grievous bested you again, what kind of Jedi Master are you if you can’t even help younglings -_

“Well, here they are, Kenobi. Undamaged goods, just as promised.”

The effusive movements of one Hondo Ohnaka wrenched him back to the present. The Weequay pirate’s rings and other adornments jangled in a chaotic allegro, demanding the attention of the entire hangar.

Hondo smirked in the Jedi’s general direction.

The auburn-haired man sighed even as he felt Cody stiffen behind him. Obi-wan gave a subtle hand signal to his commander behind his back. _It’s fine._

“Yes, Hondo,” Obi-wan replied. “And they wouldn’t have been in danger of being damaged in the first place if you and your gang hadn’t kidnapped them and tried to hold them for ransom.”

He tried to sound threatening, but Obi-wan knew it was a lost cause before the words exited his mouth. Hondo only guffawed in response, slapping his thigh and then throwing an arm to the side, nearly knocking Huyang's head off his shoulders.

“Details, Kenobi! Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut.” A long finger wagged back and forth in Obi-wan’s line of vision. “Anyway, I will send you my bill. Dangerous operation.” Hondo shook his head, first sighing dramatically and then chuckling, as if he were sharing a private joke with himself. “A rescue!” he exclaimed. “My, my what has the galaxy come to when Hondo Ohnaka is hero to the Jedi!”

“Hondo…” Obi-wan raised a weary hand in argument, breathing out a thousand unsaid repliesas he struggled to keep his face neutral. But the Jedi only lowered his hand to his forehead, rubbing it vigorously. 

“Yes, well - we appreciate your cooperation in our most pivotal moment.”

But he had lost Hondo already, the pirate's attention diverted by the group of younglings that were gathered around Huyang, the venerable droid professor.

“My Jedi children!” 

Obi-wan groaned. The youngling’s eyes went wide, their movements frozen - all except for Katooni, who had the shadow of a smile on her face. Ahsoka glowered in Hondo’s general direction, hands hovering above her lightsabers.

Hondo only smiled broadly as he wrapped an arm around Gungi’s broad Wookiee shoulders. “So shy! Kenobi, what are you teaching them in that castle of yours?”

“Not a castle, Hondo - “

“Ah! It doesn’t matter. Kisses for you all, just like mother used to do.”

And Obi-wan could barely believe his eyes as Hondo went around, kissing each one of the younglings on the forehead. 

“For you, and you,” he stopped briefly to pull a long strand of Wookiee hair from his mouth. “My you are hairy, even more so than my cousin rest his soul. And you,” he continued, even blessing Huyang, who tittered uncomfortably in response.

“And - “

Hondo stopped short in his tracks, holding a comic pose as Ahsoka growled at him. He waited a beat before responding.

“Well, perhaps not you.”

Ahsoka’s brows only furrowed further. 

“Nothing personal, my dear,” the pirate replied as he blowed a kiss in her general direction, sprinting towards the ramp of his shuttle.

Partway up, the pirate turned to address the room, his long coat whipping around with his sudden movement.

“A good day for Hondo Ohnaka. A profitable day!” he proclaimed to no one in particular, scampering up the ramp of his ship with the exultation.

Obi-wan found Ahsoka’s gaze. She rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. He felt the echoes of mild accusation in the Force - _*your* friend, Master Kenobi._

Yes, well. He would speak with Ahsoka later about the necessity of strategic relationships with the less savory characters of the -

The thought was left unfinished as clamor of boots on metal resounded through the room. 

Suddenly Hondo's face reappeared before his own. 

“I almost forgot,” the pirate grinned. 

And then of course - _of course_ \- Hondo planted a huge kiss on Obi-wan’s forehead. 

“From mother,” the pirate explained.

And with that, Hondo placed a hand on his chest, barked out a single laugh, and ordered the ship to depart with a raised finger.

A moment later, the shuttle was gone, and with it, Hondo's band of chaotic miscreants.

Normalcy slowly returned to the hangar, the clones issuing orders, Huyang gathering the younglings for departure.  Ahsoka turned to Obi-wan, her expression lightening.

“Well, he was in a good mood.”

“Too good, I’m afraid.” Obi-wan took a hand to his chin. “Those crates of spare weapons seem to have gone mysteriously missing.”

Behind him, Cody whirled around, cursing under his breath. 

“Kriffing pirates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why Hondo does what he does. I just sit back and enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is weird, guys. It's kind of humorous and then it gets a little sad at the end? 
> 
> Also, warning for alcohol/minor alcohol abuse.

“And…you know, Master, it’s just so _niiice._ Like when - well, you know. People…people need that!” Anakin smiled into his cup, the pungent liquid splashing back and forth in tandem with the world around him.

The young Jedi held out a hand to steady himself on the bar. 

“Hair.”

“Hair, Anakin?”

“Yeah.” 

The younger Jedi peered inside his cup again. He squeezed his eyes tight, wondering if anyone had ever used the Force in the way he was hoping to right now.

“Anakin, what are you doing?”

“Obi-wan, _shhhh!!!_ ” Anakin waved an arm in an erratic pattern before bringing the cup closer to his nose.

“‘I’m concentrating,” the young man said, a small hiccup punctuating the end of his declaration.

An undignified snort escaped his former Master. 

“Oh yes, Anakin, I can tell. And just what are you intending to do with this new-found ability of yours?” 

Anakin furrowed his eyebrows, trying to piece together whether or not he had just been insulted. Too hard, too many words - too much of Obi-wan’s snobby accent. Anakin shook his head.

The world tilted viciously to the side, upending Anakin and the drink from his seat. A pair of heavy hands grabbed his shoulders, wresting him in the opposite direction. 

“Obi- _wan!_ ” The young man whined, his brain sloshing up against the sides of his skull in a rather painful manner.

Anakin pointed to the overturned cup on the floor.

“You ruined it,” he pouted, attempting to cross his arms over his chest, but seemingly forgetting how to achieve the movement.

“Ruined _what_ , Anakin?” Obi-wan’s voice betrayed a thread of tension.

Oh great, Anakin, thought. Now he’s going to be _testy._

“My concentration!”

Anakin looked to his friend, whose face was a perfect picture of disbelief.

Or was it amusement?

Did Obi-wan lilt to the side for a moment?

Impossible. 

“Anyway, I was - was gonna try and change the drink. Make it taste better.”

“And how were you going to achieve that, my highly intoxicated friend?”

Anakin sat upright.

“The Force!”

“The _Force_ , Anakin?”

Anakin huffed.

Well, now that Obi-wan said it, it just sounded stupid. 

“It was a _good_ idea,” he muttered, turning his back to his former teacher for a second, before making the mistake of spinning around on his chair again, falling face-first into Obi-wan’s chest.

“You smell nice, Master.”

Something rumbled under the young Jedi’s head, and it took Anakin a beat to realize that Obi-wan was…

Was _giggling?_

He must be drunker than he thought. Obi-wan never giggled. Obi-wan never even really laughed all that often, at least not without some kind of caustic remark.

“I do, too, Anakin. That is patently unfair.”

Anakin couldn’t feel the embarrassed flush creeping up his throat over the nearly radioactive glow of Hondo’s concoctions.

“Come, Anakin,” Obi-wan pushed him up to a sitting position. “Time to go back to the ship.”

Obi-wan took Anakin’s arm and looped it around his neck, attempting to bring both of them to their feet.

The attempt lasted less than a second as the pair landed back on their seats with a dull _thud_  that resounded through the now quiet hall.

_“Ow.”_

Obi-wan cleared his throat, pulling at his collar. “Yes, well - perhaps we can wait a moment. Just to make sure all these fine gentlemen - “ the older Jedi waved a hand around the room, which was littered with the unconscious bodies of Ohnaka’s gang, “ - are indeed as docile as they look.”

“Docile,” Anakin snorted. Who _said_ things like that in real conversations? Anakin tried to count them off - Obi-wan, for sure...Dooku....he strained to think of a third person. No, that was really it. _Force_ , Obi-wan really sounded like Dooku sometimes. It was spooky.

“I most certainly do _not!_ ”

_ Oops. _

Anakin made a brave attempt standing, wrapping his own arm around Obi-wan’s shoulders, partially to apologize, but mostly to keep himself from falling flat on his face.

“Well Master, Dooku is _docile_ right now,” Anakin laughed, his words drawling in an ill-conceived attempt at mimicking Obi-wan’s Coruscanti accent.

“Oh please, Anakin. First of all, don’t even try to emulate my accent again. Any further attempts will drive me to another cup of this vile liquid.” Obi-wan drained the last of his drink in one swift motion, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“And anyway - we need to be on guard. We can’t let Dooku _or_ these pirates get the better of us, no matter how _docile -_ ” Obi-wan made a grotesque parody of his own accent that elicited a bark of laughter from Anakin, “ - they seem to be.”

Anakin leaned further into Obi-wan, smiling. “Nah, Master, we _bettered_ them. I mean - “ What was he trying to say? “We’re better than them. More powerful, smarter - definitely better-looking.”

“ _Anakin…_ ”

“No, I mean it, Master! It’s like - “ Reality swooped downwards like his starfighter. “Woah. Did you feel that?" Anakin didn't stop to listen for Obi-wan's response. "But - anyway - it’s like I was saying before. Good-looking people. People need that! Skin, hair…. _haaaaaaiir…”_

He ran his hands through his Master’s hair. 

So sleepy. People need this, Obi-wan. Hair.

“G’night, Master.” 

Anakin fell forward into Obi-wan’s arms. The older Jedi sighed, shaking his head. 

He winced, feeling the room begin to orbit around himself. Perhaps he should not try that again.

A long sigh escaped the older Jedi. Anakin was in for a rough morning. 

_So are you, Kenobi._  


Obi-wan rolled his eyes at himself, and then went to  gently lay Anakin’s head on the bar before he began to drool on his shoulder. The young man stirred with the movement, however, his eyes opening a sliver. Anakin leaned forward, his features now uncomfortably close to Obi-wan’s own face. 

Before the older man could could react, Anakin planted his lips on Obi-wan’s forehead, the kiss wet and sloppy.

“Night Padmé,” he murmured, before finally surrendering himself to unconsciousness, a blissful smile on his face.

_ Oh Force. _

For not the first time, Obi-wan rued the fact that it was mostly impossible to mind-trick one’s self into forgetfulness.

_Oh well, time to do it the old-fashioned way._  


Obi-wan reached behind the bar, pulling a new bottle of Hondo’s special brew over to his chest. 

“Well,” he said to no one in particular, opening the top with a single movement and raising the bottle to the quiet chamber. “Here’s to forgetting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where that ending came from. This was supposed to be happy, damnit!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Not a happy chapter.

At one time, he had believed darkness to be a monolith - solid, opaque, impenetrable - but a singular concept, lacking any complexity, any identity beyond its sole purpose. After all, how could there be variation where there was no illumination, no reflection, no possible way to touch the infinite possibilities that the light had to offer?

He knew better now. Before, the dark was only a single entity. But now - now his mind had been opened to the myriad of minute variations that lay within the void. Where the light expressed itself in color, in warmth, in the thrumming vibrations of taut, joyous strings -

The dark rumbled in deep timbres that caused blood to seep from his ears. The dark manifested in coarse, grainy textures that ripped at his skin and eroded his very bones. It visited as an acrid smoke, as bile rising in his throat. 

He knew better now. How could he not, as he had experienced every variation he believed possible in excruciating intimacy - had been touched by each finger of the dark, each shade, each shadowy permutation. 

And yet there was more. 

He hadn’t believed it possible - but then, he hadn’t believed what he had experienced of the dark so far to be possible, either. 

The fabric was surprisingly cool, stretching over his face, clinging to every pore, soothing every nerve of his skin. A momentary respite. A reprieve.

It clawed at him, sticking to his nostrils, climbing down his very throat - 

He tried to breathe.

The fabric pulled inwards. He tasted only a thick mesh.

Panic surged from his abdomen, his heart racing. He wrested in chains, ignoring the metal grinding into his already broken flesh. 

Blood dripped down his arms, but that didn’t matter, didn’t matter when his throat was constricting, his chest caving downwards in desperation, but there was nothing he could do, there was no way to _breathe_ and this darkness was different, he could see the inky shadows, the imprints of his own eyeballs in his mind’s eye and still breath would not come even as his chest heaved inwards again in a futile attempt to -

“Tut-tut, Obi-wan. We can’t have you dying yet.”

Oxygen flooded into his lungs.

The darkness glowed.

The mask - how did he know it was a mask? - it clung to his face, its tendrils grabbing deep into his mind, drawing out from the deepest recesses…

_Pain._

_Jealousy._

_Anger._

Each slight, each word said against him - a spectrum of rage boiled in his blood - kind sentiments turned foul, good intentions shadowed, his entire existence -

_A lie._

The scream erupted from his lungs, hatred spread into every corner of his _damned_ cell, of his torture chamber, of the only home he had known for the past month. 

Laughter - pointed, harsh - it lashed at his exposed skin, digging into the wounds on his back like a whip - 

Digging into chest. 

His legs.

His hands. 

Obi-wan Kenobi _burned._

Footsteps. The rustle of fabric. The damp, fecund air of his cell. His own soiled garments.

Reprieve as the terrible presence of that - that _thing -_ that cursed, leaden headpiece - was lifted.

“Oh, my false Jedi,” cooed Asajj Ventress, her breath warm on Obi-wan’s nose.

“You have only begun.”

Her lips were cold, icy on his forehead. 

Her lips were warmth, a _connection_ to life that was quickly swallowed by the fabric - the gag, the muzzle, the device - that encompassed his head.

The darkness pressed inwards in its multitudinous black rainbow.

“Sweet dreams, Obi-wan,” Ventress purred, pulling the door to his Rattatak prison closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....ya know. That whole Rattatak thing was relatively unpleasant on all sides. (Yikes!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this is my favorite installment of this so far??? Padmé and Obi-wan talk.

She should be angry. 

She _wanted_ to be angry. 

For a brief moment she considered slamming the door in his face. It would have been immensely gratifying to give in to that impulse, to hurt the man in front her.

But no - no more childish behaviors. She had witnessed enough of those in the past day to last a lifetime.

Besides, the door was pneumatic.

Padmé brushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear, gesturing inside.

“Obi-wan. Please, come in.”

He didn’t respond, at least not right away. Obi-wan’s features tightened, the crow’s eyes that had become more and more prominent during the war crinkling at the sides of his face. He gazed with uncharacteristic trepidation at Padmé, then at the empty foyer, and finally into the corridor that led to the living room before bringing his eyes back on the Senator. 

Apparently satisfied, he nodded, sweeping by Padmé wordlessly into the large apartment.

She sighed, shaking her head as she dispelled the thought of having some kind of Jedi alert system installed at her front doors, even temporarily.  _So much for that quiet glass of wine._ Padmé put that idea from her mind as well, instead following the Jedi Master into the living room. Obi-wan had come to stand by the large transparisteel window, looking out onto the busy Coruscant skyline. Buildings rose like gigantic steel mountains in every direction below them, their spires reflecting the midday sun, sending shafts of light in every direction. _Like turbolasers_ , she thought darkly. Padmé wondered when the war would stop being constantly on her mind.

“I take it Anakin isn’t here right now,” Obi-wan said, his voice hoarse. From the vocal emulator, she assumed. The Jedi had his back to the Senator, leaving Padmé to consider the outline of the reddish fuzz struggling to grow back on the Jedi’s head. 

She forced a smile, even though he couldn't see her. “No, he’s out with Ahsoka.”

Obi-wan only hummed in response, his back still facing Padmé.

“I figured. Otherwise I imagine I would have already been halfway out this window and descending to the lower levels without the aid of a turbolift.” And there was that wry humor that was so Obi-wan, but Padmé sensed the underlying tension, the pain in the statement that couldn’t be explained away by a raw throat or fatigue.

“Best for both of us,” Padmé responded. “With the budget as tight as it is in the Senate, I doubt they would want to foot the repair bill.” 

Obi-wan chuckled, allowing the conversation to lapse.

Padmé stood still, uncertain what to do next. Obi-wan had come here of his own accord, presumably to talk with her, not Anakin, but she couldn't understand what exactly had brought him to 500 Republica _now_ , of all times.

“I do hope, Senator,” he spoke again, still subdued, “that Anakin is…venting his frustrations in a productive, but mostly legal manner?”

It only occurred to Padmé then that there was no reason for Obi-wan to have assumed that Anakin was here, for him to believe that a Senator would have any knowledge of what one Jedi did in his off-time. 

Cold panic settled in her stomach. 

This wasn't the reason for his visit, was it? Not after all that had happened.

Padmé's mind raced. To deny her words now would be ridiculous, and there was no way to walk back those admissions without further compounding her mistake.

“I believe he mentioned something about pod-racing on the lower levels,” she said, her tone diplomatic, but her words an open challenge to the man before her.

She shouldn’t know this, shouldn’t be sharing this information with Obi-wan, but it was too late. And either Obi-wan was here to expose them, or they would tiptoe around the issue, blatantly ignoring what was right in front of both of them.

Obi-wan turned to face Padmé, his hands swallowed by the voluminous sleeves of his Jedi robe. The fabric rustled, and Padmé assumed that he was fidgeting with his fingers underneath, a rare nervous tic she had observed in him a few years ago.

Obi-wan was _nervous._

_Obi-wan was never nervous._

Padmé's heart jumped into her throat.

“Yes, well,” Obi-wan coughed discreetly, and she wondered if he ha alreadyd sensed her thoughts in the Force. “I suppose pod-racing is better than the alternative.”

“He needs the outlet, Obi-wan,” she responded with surprising heat, throwing all caution aside. 

There was no need to drag this out.  _Get on with it, Obi-wan._

Wide, grey-green eyes met hers in question, and Padmé steeled herself, like she had so many times before. She had ready for it all to fall apart, had prepared herself for this ever since Geonosis.

But Obi-wan only sighed, dropping his shoulders and gaze to the floor. He rubbed his forehead, propping an elbow on his forearm, holding his head in his hand.

“I’m - “ the Jedi’s voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Padmé.  You must find me a terrible person, to use my friends like this,” he continued, his voice dropping low, gesturing at his own appearance.

Relief flooded her senses, followed by the sting of shame. He wasn’t here to expose their relationship, or to report to the Jedi Council.

_Yes, you are terrible!_ Memories of the past ten-day flashed through her mind - Anakin's face contorted in terrible anger at the funeral. Satine crying on her shoulder. Ahsoka’s face devoid of emotion as she stared unblinking at the lit pyre. Images she never wanted to see again. All because of Obi-wan’s supposed death.

She wanted to scream, to yell, to pound her fists into his chest until he felt...felt something. You hurt us all! Anakin the most! She wanted to explain every detail of the hours that had followed - the broken vases, the murderous intent, her own awful fear of the man she loved…

But she didn’t. 

Not because Padmé forgave him - it was too early for that. 

But because...she understood.

“Obi-wan,” she began slowly. “Do you remember, before the war, when Cordé was killed in that assassination attempt?”

He didn’t look up from the floor, only murmuring a soft assent.

She let out a breath. The memory had never lost its foul taste, the pain of losing one of her closest friends.

“My…my inner circle. They knew that I was safe, alive. But…but not everyone did. Not for a few hours, at least. We - “ Padmé stopped. No one else knew this, aside from her and Captain Typho. Not even Anakin.

“We wanted to see if we could flush out some internal enemies on Naboo, to expose a deeper corruption.”

Padmé walked over to Obi-wan, taking him gently him by the arms.

“My family was so worried, had assumed the worst. Even after they learned the truth, my father didn’t speak with me for days.”

It had been terrible, even over holographic transmission, to see the hurt, to hear the pain and accusation in her father’s words. 

“They…eventually understood. As Queen, as Senator, my duty was to my people, to the greater good. That’s the risk we take, Obi-wan - you, me, all of the Jedi.”

A risk you weren’t able to take with Anakin, she thought grimly, remembering the trade she made to return General Grievous to the Separatists.

“You are not a bad person, Obi-wan.”

The Jedi raised his head, revealing red-rimmed eyes.

“He’ll come around, I promise,” she whispered.

Without thinking, Padmé took Obi-wan’s face into her hands. She hesitated, knowing that the Jedi was not completely comfortable with physical forms of affection. But instinct overrode uncertainty. He needed this, needed some kind of confirmation.

She brought his forehead close, placing a light kiss just below his hairline. They stood like that in one quiet moment, before she released her hold.

Obi-wan’s eyes were bright, his smile quivering even as his cheeks flushed. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and Padmé could practically see him trying to release all of it - the guilt, the anger, the sadness - into the Force.

The Coruscant traffic flew past below them, a matrix of speed and sound indicating another normal day on the capital. 

“Thank you, Padmé.”

The statement was less than a whisper.

She squeezed his hand in response.

"Go. Get some rest, Obi-wan."

A small pulse in return, almost imperceptible on her skin. There was a moment's hesitation, and then Obi-wan swept from the room, quietly as he had entered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn that Rako Hardeen arc. I hope Padmé got her glass of wine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows up 75 years late with Starbucks and pizza, wearing sunglasses.*
> 
> So I decided around 9pm tonight that I was finally going to finish this thing. 
> 
> Enjoy.

The dunes crested and fell in perfect, mesmerizing asymmetry. The wind stole their triumphs, all they had built at their peaks, bringing those who had dared to rise too high low again, smashing their precarious tops under the heel of an invisible boot. The outline of their topography was ragged, much like a child’s scribble, uneven, uncertain of itself.

The child was safe, for now. 

Ben Kenobi pulled back his hood, squinting at the valley to the east. 

Maul was dead. Buried in the Dune Sea, by his own hand, his grave dug with his own fingers. Sand scratched under the nails of those fingers. That was no surprise. Nearly twenty years on Tatooine had taught him that sand got _everywhere_. But the black threads caught in his cuticles, the stains of crimson in the nailbed....

A gale blew across the plain, bringing a shower of granular particles with it. Ben scowled at the unending beige sea, the pale blue backdrop, at that damnable, unrelenting death orb that hung in the sky.

The burial had been a lonely affair. Everything in his life was a lonely affair. And just as it was now, the desert winds had picked up as he had hauled Maul’s body out to a forgotten corner of a forgotten land on a forgotten planet. Maul had aspired to so much more, and to die in ignominy on a fated, eroded rock - 

It was strange that he grieved his old enemy so. Maul had taken so much from him, had haunted his evey waking moment for years, had nearly been his undoing and yet…he had been a living connection to the past. And if Ben focused on that thought, he could imagine a time before the Empire, before Ana - 

Ben pulled his hood up. It was time to check on the eopies. 

The beasts came alive as they caught the familiar scent of their caretaker, snorting and scuffing their heels into the sand as the old hermit approached them. Ben’s lip quirked upwards. His only friends on this desolate rock - them and the itinerant herd of banthas that wandered by his hut every few weeks, groaning with hollow voices at a distant, uncaring moon.

He placed two wooden bowls in front of each animal, giving them a pat on the head in turn. Tongues scraped with enthusiastic dedication against the sides of the bowls, gnawing and slurping at the modest porridge.

A third scrape sounded from the other side of his hut. 

Ben glanced over at the eopies. They were now plopped on their threadbare blankets, noses deep in the remains of their breakfast, chewing noisily, making the occasional phlegmy grunt of satisfaction.

The wind, most likely. But instinct, honed by decades of training, sounded a quiet warning at the base of his skull. Ben stiffened, his senses reaching outwards, prodding at every grain of sand, every shift in the sun's unrelenting glare.

Sandpeople? Jabba’s thugs? The Empire?

Or that terrible dark spectre. The machine that had once been -

“Obi-wan?” a voice croaked.

Ben spun around, gaping.

He was thin, too thin, almost a skeleton. His eyes were buried in dark and sunken sockets, the gleaming whites of his eyeballs a disturbing contrast with the rest of his shadowed face, whose once healthy, vibrant skin was now cracked and weeping. 

Was he here to finally end it? To finish what he started on Utapau?

“I’m so - so-“ The clone staggered forward, hand outstretched.

“Sorry,” he whispered, eyes rolling to the back of his head. The clone collapsed in a heap, falling against the slope of an uncaring dune. 

Ben stood, frozen. Should he kill him? Let the Tatooine desert take him? The impulse was strong, that dangerous scarlet ribbon he had worked so long to bury wrapping itself lovingly around his heart in a tidy, neat package.

Revenge was not the Jedi way.

Ben raised his hand, regarding the fallen man with a sick fascination.

But was he really a Jedi anymore? 

The eopies shifted nervously in their pen, their eyes wide.

But Ben merely leaned over, wrapping one arm under the other man’s knees, placing the other behind his back. In one movement, he lifted the clone from the ground and carried him away.

 

* * *

 

 Reality warped around Cody.

Shapes - indistinct, blurry forms - floated side to side, seesawing like the Kaminoan oceans. Bile rose in Cody’s throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. Echoes of color flashed behind his eyes, beige and brown. 

The clone groaned, twisting as pain radiated from behind his eyes.

This had to be the worst casino he’d been to yet.

He sniffed at the unfamiliar, dry air, which held the slightest hint of some desert plant he had long-forgotten the name of. No, this wasn’t Canto Bight, he’d left that hellhole weeks ago, down one finger, but up something far more important. 

A lead. The first real lead he’d had in forever.

The rest was still fuzzy, though. A ship, a map, a few credits passed here and there. All hidden behind a grey veil. Cody didn’t like fuzzy. Fuzzy meant a lack of control, and a lack of control led to -

Cold dread settled in his gut.  The clone's eyes shot open as he tried to push himself upright. 

_Not again, not again._

But a pair of gentle hands took his shoulders, guiding him back to a prone position. Cody didn’t resist, couldn’t resist, really, so weak was he. He reached a hand out to the side, feeling at the pile of rough fabrics that he supposed was a bed. It was hard, but not uncomfortable, at least not after wandering through the Tatooine desert for three days. 

The desert. That was right. Tatooine. He was here, searching. 

Cody's eyes drooped closed.  It could be worse. He was - perhaps not safe, but at least not a prisoner, as far as he could tell.

A familiar chuckle sounded from beside him. 

Another dream, then. Cody could still hear the swishing of fabric, the padding of boots, the scent of  _kapir_ tea heating on the stove...

The clone swallowed, his throat tight and painful. It was a dream, nothing more. 

A rough, calloused hand reached out and caressed his cheek. It felt…too old, too worn - too impossible to be _him_ and yet - 

And yet he would know that touch anywhere.

Chapped, rough lips settled on Cody’s forehead in a gentle kiss.

“Rest, friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! 
> 
> Come say hi at the friendly Lego Compound [@legobiwan](https://legobiwan.tumblr.com/) or the Lair of Michievous Snakes [@be-a-snake-stab-your-brother](https://be-a-snake-stab-your-brother.tumblr.com/)!


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